Behind Closed Doors

1.4 - The Birthday Party

Hello all, this is the final part of The Birthday Party. I don't have much to say except thank you for reading, I'm very grateful, and also that (in response to a message I got) I think a child of John and Sherlock would know about genes at the age of six. I did, and I only have a doctor father. ;) Thanks, Jamie.

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John was determined to talk to Sherlock before Hamish did, but distracted, chatting with Mrs Hudson, he didn’t notice Hamish disappear upstairs. Once he did he swore, apologised to Mrs Hudson, and made a dash for the flat. He tripped on the first step: one of Sherlock's shoes. He cursed, picked himself up, and slowed down. When he reached the top of the stairs, he could hear Sherlock and Hamish's voices. He almost pushed open the door, but then stopped to listen.

'I was falling, Dad. I thought I was going to... to die. I thought I'd never see you again.' Hamish sniffed.

John peered through the crack in the door. He could see the back of Sherlock's thick curls where he was sat on the chair. Hamish was in his lap, head pressed against Sherlock's shoulder. He heard Sherlock take a deep breath.

'You know, Hamish, a long time ago, before you were born, and before your daddy and I were even married, I had a fall too.'

 John saw Hamish wriggle and sit up so he could see Sherlock. 'I bet I fell further,' he said.

Sherlock shook his head. 'No,' he said. 'I fell a long way. I fell right from the top of Aunt Molly's hospital.'

Hamish's eyes widened. 'What happened?'

'Something very bad,' Sherlock told him. 'Something with a very bad man your daddy and I had to beat.'

'You and Daddy?' he questioned.

Sherlock nodded. 'Yes. And Aunt Molly. And Uncle Mycroft. And I suppose Uncle Greg did something or other trivial. It took a long time, but we did it. We beat him.'

'Because goodies always beat baddies, don't they?'

John bit his lip as he anticipated a truthful but harsh answer from Sherlock.

'Not always. If they did, I wouldn't have a job to do. Remember, Daddy says he was a soldier?'

'But you say he's a doctor!' Hamish chirped.

'Yes,' Sherlock told him, grinning at his son's responsiveness. 'Daddy was a soldier and a doctor, and that meant he was helping people. A lot of those people were hurt by other people, who did bad things. We don't always catch them, but we try, and we always make sure we keep the people we love safe.'

John ignored the tear running down his cheek and dropping at his stern military jaw.

'And you kept Daddy safe?'

Sherlock hesitated. 'I tried,' he said, 'but I made mistakes. I wanted to look after him so badly that sometimes I hurt him more.'

'How?'

'In ways you can't understand yet. I didn't want to hurt him, but I did, and I think sometimes I hurt him very badly.'

'Did you hit him?'

'It was worse than that.'

'You didn't bite him did you?' Hamish said, incredulous. John smiled as he cried.

'It was a different sort of hurting. Sometimes we hurt people without touching them, like when someone calls you names. I did something like that to Daddy.'

'Did you say sorry?'

Sherlock nodded. 'Yes. I didn't know if he would forgive me, though.'

'But that's a rule!' Hamish protested, and began to recite one of John's family rules: 'In our family, we say sorry and we forgive each other.'

'I know it is,' Sherlock reassured. 'But we haven't always had those rules. And because what I did hurt Daddy so much I thought he might not understand how to forgive me.'

'But he did?'

'He did,' Sherlock nodded. 'But I didn't get to see him for nearly three years.'

'Three years?' Hamish echoed. 'That's a half of me!'

'It's a half of your age, not of you,' Sherlock corrected. 'But that's not important now. I just want to make sure you know something, Hamish.'

'What?'

John held his breath, afraid to miss a word.

'We all have falls, but we also have people who love us, and they pick us up and make it better. Sometimes they just have to give you a kiss, but sometimes it takes a lot more for things to be fixed and back to normal. This time, you had a little fall, and Daddy fixed it with a kiss. All the time you have Daddy and I around you, you will only have little falls.'

'And what if you aren't around me?' Hamish whispered.

'Then you have Uncle Mycroft and Aunt Molly, and Nana's only ever downstairs. And there's Aunt Harry. And Uncle Greg. They will all be here to look out for you too.'

'And you'll keep me safe?'

'That's what families are for,' Sherlock told him. 'And families aren't just the people who you share genes with: they're also the people that love and forgive you, no matter what.'

'Can we play a game?' Hamish changed the subject with the abruptness that only a child (or Sherlock, John thought) can.

'I suppose so,' Sherlock nodded. 'You go into your bedroom and choose, and I'll make sure there's space for it here.'

Hamish lowered himself off Sherlock's lap, and dashed towards his bedroom. He disappeared quickly to John, limited to the view provided by the crack in the door. He turned and leant against the wall, trying to compose himself. The hand that found its way into his was not entirely unexpected.

'I heard you on the bad floorboard,' Sherlock whispered, tickling John's ear with his breath.

John let himself be accepted into his husband's embrace. 'You were wonderful,' he said.

'I just tried to be like you.' Sherlock didn't understand that validation and explanation weren't necessary.

'Dad!' Hamish's shout came from the living room. 'Where are you?'

Sherlock pulled John gently into the presence of their son. Hamish didn't quite notice the remains of his father's tears.

'I was just getting Daddy,' Sherlock told him.

'What are we playing?' John said brightly, recovering himself completely.

Hamish held the box aloft. 'Junior Cluedo!' he announced.